How to Survive a Cold
by BrokenWingsFrozenTears
Summary: When the Winner Enterprises CEO gets a cold, there's nothing like a little sexual healing.


It was almost like a sixth sense, Trowa decided, waking from a deep sleep in the middle of the night to find himself alone in the room. He rubbed his eyes, stretching for a moment to help get his blood moving and his mind functioning, rising from the bed and walking out to the living room where he'd noticed a pale illumination hopefully indicating his lover's whereabouts.

Sure enough, he found his little blond-headed angel huddled in a blanket on the couch in front of the television, a box of tissues and a wastebasket at his feet, sniffling miserably. Smiling softly, Trowa walked on silent feet up behind him, leaning over the couch to wrap his arms around his lover. Quatre startled at the unexpected touch, turning his head to glance at his partner.

"Trowa, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured, sweet voice muffled and strained by a stuffy nose and scratchy throat. Trowa shook his head, moving to sit spread-legged on the couch and ushering Quatre between his thighs to lie back against his chest.

"You should have woken me earlier. I don't want you to sneak away by yourself when you're sick. Would you like some soup for your throat? Hot tea?" Trowa asked, his arms loosely draped over his lover who now lay heavily against him, nuzzling the blond locks affectionately.

"I'd love some tea but… not yet… don't want you to go," Quatre whispered before diving for a tissue and sneezing three times into it before slumping back against his lover. "I hate this… and is it just me or is it embarrassing to be an ex-Gundam pilot suffering through a cold?"

"We're still human, love, but don't worry. I'll keep it a secret that the CEO of WE is actually a mortal," Trowa grinned, feeling Quatre swat him playfully as he gave a small laugh before breaking into a coughing fit.

"Ugh… my head, my throat… Don't make me laugh," Quatre complained halfheartedly, truly thankful for his lover's patience and attention. Trowa's slight smile widened, stroking Quatre's stomach leisurely with his thumbs where his hands rested atop his body, and it was a comforting embrace as they lay together for long moments, drinking in the other's presence and warmth, oblivious to the low sound of the infomercial that had taken over the current, hapless channel.

"You feel so good Trowa…" Quatre whispered, completely relaxed, no longer frustrated by his runny nose, momentarily forgetting his scratchy throat. Trowa made a soft, pleased sound of acknowledgement, rubbing his hands lightly down Quatre's abdomen, never able to resist his adorable angel pressed so close to his body, trying to pull back his thighs to avoid poking Quatre with his unintended but inevitable erection.

"No, Trowa, don't," Quatre whispered, not wanting him to pull away at all, feeling his own arousal breaking through the haze of sickness, certain the strong medicine he'd taken and the shot he'd received that morning after managing to get through only half the day were working their magic. He turned in the loose embrace to face his lover, gazing at Trowa with glazed eyes before his stare slid down his torso, fingers reaching out to brush the brunet's stiffening length.

Trowa groaned softly, lightly taking hold of Quatre's wrist, shaking his head again.

"You're in no shape for this, my heart," he stated in a soft voice, then, "Just let me take care of you now."

His emerald eyes widened slightly as Quatre pulled his wrist from his grasp, taking Trowa's hand and guiding it to his own hardening member.

"Then take care of me," he whispered, and though he sounded congested, the words shivered down Trowa's spine, dangerously shaking his resolve.

"I don't take advantage of sick pretty boys," he replied, making one last stand that was all but washed away with Quatre's following words.

"Well today you'll start."

And with that he dipped his head, sucking lightly on one of Trowa's bronze nipples, moaning around the small nub as Trowa gave in, reaching past the elastic of Quatre's pajama pants and stroking his shaft with firm, gentle caresses. The blond moaned softly, resting his forehead on Trowa's shoulder, his lover frowning at the heated flesh meeting his own, taking him in his arms and repositioning them so that he settled between Quatre's hips, the blond lying back beneath him.

"Are you sure, Quatre? You're not looking so good," Trowa voiced with concern, stroking his knuckles lightly over a flushed cheek, completely melted by the endearing movement as Quatre leaned into his hand.

"Just do it, Trowa. Let's come together then go to bed," Quatre requested on a quiet breath as he unbuttoned and pulled back his shirt. "We'll just take a rain cheek on the kissing – I'm already putting you too much at risk."

Trowa nodded, hardly worried, nuzzling his lover's neck as he slid his fingers down his stomach, pressing and lightly rocking his own hard length against Quatre's as he worked both their pajama bottoms out of the way.

"Give me your hand," Trowa whispered once he'd moved the smooth fabric away, voice soft and husky in his ear, and Quatre put his hand in Trowa's, moaning softly as he threaded their fingers together, hands wrapped around those heavy, blushing masts, pumping them in a mutual hand job.

Quatre glanced down between them, groaning at the sight of the inflamed flesh pressed tightly together, the dripping tips sharing their own wet kiss.

"Trowa…" he panted, eyes closing and head tipping back, giving in to sensation, the rough caress of their calloused hands scraping in perfect roughness against the nearly velvet-soft skin of their swollen organs.

Trowa breathed softly above him, directing both the speed and movements, taking his time to savor every touch, every slide, every stroke they shared. Though as their breathing became more pronounced and Quatre initiated his own slight pull, trying to increase the pace and friction, Trowa began rocking his hips, intensifying their frot session, driven close to the edge by Quatre's soft gasps of pleasure and the whimpers that fell in lusty breaths from his lips.

"Oh, Trowa… please, please…!" he begged on a broken moan, and Trowa tightened his grip, sliding his thumb over Quatre's wet tip and his own, groaning as he felt the strong pulse and release of Quatre's shaft against him, releasing his own hot jets, splattering Quatre's stomach before collapsing lightly atop him and the small pool of semen, Quatre hands sliding over his biceps and back as they panted in the aftermath.

"See?" Quatre began, voice barely audible. "This was exactly what I needed for a good night's rest."

"Your throat's going to be killing you in the morning," Trowa pointed out softly, though Quatre dismissed the certain truth of his observation, lightly kissing his neck.

"I'll worry about it then. Let's clean up and go to bed," Quatre replied, his body heavy but completely, blissfully sated. Trowa nodded, pulling himself up from the mess dripping down Quatre's belly, watching the blond as he slipped off his shirt, trying to wipe up the majority of it.

"You still don't think you'll regret this tomorrow?" Trowa couldn't help but ask as they made their way to the bedroom, supporting his lover who stood on shaky legs, till sniffling with a box of tissues in hand. He knew what was done was done, but it hung over him, thinking he should have been able to control himself. But Quatre merely flashed him a blinding smile, eyes shimmering as he pressed a kiss to his chest, a physical statement of the reassurance he knew Trowa needed.

"As far as I'm concerned, this is the only way to survive a cold."

~3~x~4~x~3~

End


End file.
